The one ring
Popped out for lunch in this Indian summer weather down to a little alleyway off Bourke St. Met Kezza, ordered sushi & miso. Kerryn was mid-sentence regarding her upcoming review, when the ring I was fiddling with dislodged itself from my hand, hurled itself into the air and bounced onto the nearby footpath. (Honestly, I saw it happen, it was slow motion, like that episode of the Simpsons, where Apu stops James Woods getting shot in the Quik E mart). Now this little happening would be of no great consequence, but for the following
- there was a drain grate about 20 cm away from where the ring landed (somewhat precariously)
- there was a reasonable amount of foot traffic going past
- The ring was our dearly departed Nana’s, so
- If I lost it down a drain, I would never forgive myself
Accompanied by a shrill scream, I dove under the railing and crawled on all fours to the ring, hoping not to frighten it away, and after grabbing it, I firmly returned it to its rightful place, my left middle finger. Kerryn was looking, as were the three businessmen at the table opposite, as were mostly everyone in the arcade.
“It was my grandmother’s!” I yelled at Kerryn as I made my way back so everyone would know that I wasn’t mad, fossicking along the ground for nothing. She was performing a specific Kerryn type action (one I know quite well) where her entire lithe little body jiggles like she has a worm inside her, whilst putting her hand to her mouth and funny like squeaky noises come out. She was trying not to laugh at me. The businessmen opposite just laughed and looked at me like I was stupid, or I had done something stupid.